


Hollows and Edges

by frostmrajick



Category: Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Eating Disorders, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmrajick/pseuds/frostmrajick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His body is a traitor. He feels like he went to sleep twelve and woke up seventeen. His body is all limbs pasted together with awkwardness. For the first time in years, he’s fumbling simple moves, losing the ball as he trips over his own feet, and he has to work twice as hard just to stay in place. They say it’s natural, that he’ll get used to it, but every time he looks in the mirror and sees a stranger staring back at him, he has to look away, as though he’ll find the boy he used to be hiding behind the man before him, and he’ll never be able to run away after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollows and Edges

Sora’s gaze is locked on him as they leave the field, watching his every move. Finally, he whips his head to look at her, catching her eye, and she looks away with a blush.

“What?” he asks.

“You’ve…lost weight,” she says slowly.

The statement surprises him. “Um, yeah, I guess.” He had noticed that, too. The other guys on his soccer team talked about bulking up, gaining muscle, and he had kept silent. Not only had he not gained weight in over a year, he had started losing it.

It hadn’t been intentional, finding these hollows and edges. To be honest, he had almost forgotten. He hadn’t liked looking at himself in years, avoiding it wherever he could. If it weren’t for the occasional stray hand or glimpse in the mirror (who is that–-oh), he could almost forget how things were.

Sora waits. “So do you eat or what?” she asks. “Just–-you’re getting kind of thin, Taichi.”

He frowns. “I eat. I just train a lot. I probably lost some weight during summer training-–that was brutal.” Last year, he had started tripping over his own feet, missing the ball, finding himself where he hadn’t expected to be. It had cost points, cost games. He had to work harder. Soccer was his life, and it truly became his life. He trained for hours every day, long after everyone else had left the field. He became the best again, and he was never going to lose that again. Keep working, keep pushing, harder and faster, and maybe things could stay the same.

Sora stops and touches his hand in concern. “It’s more than a few pounds,” she tells him quietly.

Her concern hits him in all the wrong ways. He pulls away. “I’m fine,” he says brusquely, turning away. “Just because you’ve let yourself go doesn’t mean everyone else has to.” He’ll regret his words later, but right now, he’s lost in the moment, so afraid she’ll tell him to stop, and that’s something he can’t do. He would rather die.

The thought shakes him, and he takes off, pounding feet drowning out the sound of her yelling angrily after him, drowning out the sound of his own racing heart. Escape. He runs for an hour, then goes back to the deserted field and practices soccer until well after dark.

He doesn’t realize that he skipped dinner until he gets home and his mother asks. He doesn’t argue as she pulls out the meal she saved him, pretends not to see the way she looks at him. He cuts his food into tiny pieces and pushes them around on his plate. He doesn’t intend to fool her. He truly means to eat it all, but each bite seems too much, even when it’s chopped and mixed into unrecognizability. He has to pause, uncertainty building up in him, until it’s too much to even try, and the moment she looks away, he throws the mess in the trash. He’ll eat later.

It’s game time, time for all that practice to pay off, time to be the star.

So of course he fails spectacularly.

It starts in the middle of a pass. His head suddenly goes light, and in the time it takes to blink it away, the other team has blown past him, snagging the ball. Stupid. Coach must have loved that. He grits his teeth and vows to make up for it.

He goes to make a strike, and the goal doubles, he stumbles, and he misses the ball. He puts his hands on his knees and breathes through the panic and anger. Coach is yelling at him–-get your head in the game, Yagami!-–and he straightens and runs forward, pushing past everything. It’s not the first time he’s ignored the pain.

Next thing he knows, he’s on the ground, staring up at his coach and team and Sora.

“You okay, Yagami?”

“You can’t be on the field,” is his genius response, looking at Sora.

She frowns huffily. “You collapsed, jerk. I was worried.”

A teammate reaches down to help him up, but Taichi ignores him. He tries to stand on his own, and nearly drowns in the sea of black spots. He decides to sit back down before he falls, and he takes a deep breath. “I’m good,” he says, his own voice sounding miles away.

His teammates help him to the sidelines-–he’s too weak to fight them this time and that pisses him off. The medic that always seemed an unnecessary precaution insists on checking him over, even though all he wants is to get back in the game. Taichi tells the doctor he’s fine, he’s fine, hoping that will make them all believe it.

The doctor frowns as he hovers here, here, here. “Tell them I’m okay so I can get back in there,” Taichi demands impatiently.

“Actually, I think you should sit out the rest of the game. You’re dehydrated–-”

“I’ll have some water. Then can I go?”

“-–and you should get something to eat. When was your last meal?”

“This morning.” He almost doesn’t hesitate.

“What did you have?”

He scrambles for an answer. What’s with the third degree? What does all this have to do with soccer? “Some cereal. And fruit.” It was his sister’s breakfast.

“Hmm,” the doctor murmurs. “Have a little snack, maybe something more substantial, next time.” He pats Taichi’s shoulders and smiles. “You’re an athlete, and a growing boy, to boot. You need more nutrients to play your best.”

“I know.” He’ll say anything to make the guy just go away. “I’ll have-–some juice or something. Then can I play?”

The doctor looks reluctant, but he sighs. “Well, maybe in a little while. I’ll check you over again after a few rounds, and we’ll go from there. How’s that sound?”

“Fine,” Taichi says, sighing in frustration.

After the game-–he gets to play the last few minutes (harderharderfasterfaster, have to make up for it all)-–the doctor pulls him aside again. “I’d like you to see a nutritionist,” he says. “You should learn some tips on keeping healthy so this doesn’t happen again. Can’t have our stay player on the bench again, right?”

That night, Taichi practices until his muscles are so sore, he can barely make it to bed. He failed today. It can’t happen again. Star player. The doctor pulling him out. Collapsing.

He’s so disgusted with himself. He’s not a star player. He’s pathetic, a loser, so far behind, he’ll probably never be worth even having on the team.

He runs for miles every morning, until his body burns and he can’t catch his breath. During his lunch break, he goes to the weight room; after practices, he stays on the field and goes through it all again.

He goes to the nutritionist. Once. He looks at her list of suggestions and promises, then throws it away. He doesn’t have the time or energy.

He catches a glimpse of himself while changing after a game where he obliterated the other team in victory. Beneath the angles and edges, out of the corner of his eye, he can just see himself.

For a brief moment, he is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Tri and started thinking about the characters growing up, and do to a rumor I misunderstood, got into some darker ideas about what happened there. Basically, where do you go after you’ve been a digi-destined? Taichi’s struggle with figuring out where he’s going and kind of longing for the past resonated with me and inspired this.
> 
> Full disclosure: this is based on my own life. I've had an eating disorder for fifteen years, since I was ten. I deal with my issues through writing, so this is a sort of therapy for that.


End file.
